Friday, May 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
During my cleaning, Barry praises my dental hygiene. I pull a pack of floss out of my pocket to prove to him that I do indeed have floss on me at all times. He tells me I’m the perfect woman. I laugh it off, awkwardly, as he’s in the middle of cleaning my teeth and I also don’t really want any non-dental compliments from Barry.
Once the cleaning is done and Dr. L examines me and I am at reception checking out, Barry comes up to me and asks if I’d like to go get a cup of coffee. Ugh. No. I so don’t want to go get a cup of coffee with Barry and his freakishly soft hands. But this is awkward. I thought I was in a safe zone, where I could touch a man’s hands and show him my floss and not have him read anything more into it. But there he is, eagerly smiling at me, and I relent. My office is only two blocks away, and there is a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on the block between Dr. L’s office and mine. Barry asks how he can get in touch with me. You have my number, don’t you? I reply. He offers me a freakishly soft hand to shake and I depart.
Sure enough, the following day Barry calls me. How about that coffee? He wants to know. Oh yeah, well I’m pretty busy this week but next week we can go to the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf down the block one morning. But Barry has another idea. He wants to take me to a different coffee place, one a few miles away that has a fire pit and outdoor seating. Oh no, I tell him. I don’t go west of the 405. The one down the block is much better for me. OK, he says. He can’t go in the mornings because he has to work and I can’t go after work because I don’t want to. I end it all with a “I’ll call you when I get less busy” line and that’s that. Blow off complete.
But I started to stew a bit afterwards. How unprofessional of him to put me in that position, I think. Did he really interpret my fascination at his freakishly soft hands as some sort of come-on? He was in the same category as the albino frog, couldn’t he see that? And what would Dr. L say? She undoubtedly wouldn’t appreciate him chasing off the clientele. I liked Dr. L, she accepted my insurance and her office was extremely conveniently located. I didn’t want Barry putting those baby soft hands on me or in my mouth ever again, damn him! Solution: I called Dr. L’s office and asked that from now on, Barry not perform my cleanings. No problem, the receptionist said. She'll put a note in my file. No questions asked. I got the feeling she’s heard that request before.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The whole "timing is everything" phrase is such a cliche, but I've realized truer words have never been spoken. Why? Because somewhere in the creases of my dating history--- in search of a new blog post--- I remembered: I once blew off what may have been the perfect guy, merely because I wasn't ready.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
"Although we've come to the end of the road, still I can't let go. It's unnatural. You belong to me, I belong to you."
-Boyz II Men, 1993
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
A great one night stand story from one of our readers. (Remember, you too can send us your story at email@example.com):
This is the story of my first and last one night stand, which also happens to coincide with hands down, one of the best nights of living in the NYC. The night read like a montage in a witty and smart romantic comedy. It could have been the beginning of a beautiful relationship. But instead it was just another blow off....
It could have been the drinks, the perfect new york night weather or lil guns and roses tunes still floating in our heads, whatever it was, Latvia and Smith Jerrod were there to stay, by our side for the night.
En route to meet some friends at the Beauty Bar, me and my new partner in crime decided to take a detour. Yes, one might think we snuck into some NY alley for a quick make-out session, but NO this detour was about my feet. They'd been killing me all night from my killer black heels and Smith Jerrod being the gentleman that he was, made me stop at Duane Reade for a pair of plastic grandma wedge shoes. Let me help you conjure up the image: they were uglier than crocs. And because we were very drunk, we also walked out of there sporting matching tropical print visors. So, here I am with rolled up jeans, ugly grandma shoes and a tropical visor. I mean, I looked like I belonged in a Florida retirement home, not the streets of Manhattan. Regardless, Smith and I were laughing to tears, hand-in-hand, skipping into the Beauty Bar.
Post Beauty Bar, me, Smith, my sister and a few other friends wandered the streets of the East Village aimlessly (well, not that aimlessly. We were conveniently close to my apartment). Just as we were moments away from one night stand bliss, the M15 bus pulled up. Before I knew what was happening, Smith dragged me on to the bus and we happily waved good bye to our friends who watched us drive off like we were crazy. The bus ride only lasted 2 blocks to a nearby flower stand where Smith proceeded to buy me a sunflower. This may sound romantic, but it just added to the hilarity and randomness of the evening.
The one night stand did come to fruition and the blow-off came the morning after. Even in the hung-over morning hours I knew this night would go down as one of the best nights of my NYC life. It was the kind of night you just don't have in other cities and I had to do everything it took to make sure it stayed that way. So, as Smith Jerrod was pulling himself together, asking for my phone #, I replied "nah, but we'll always have lil' guns and roses."
Friday, May 7, 2010
I liked my job and my co-workers, but beyond vaguely telling them I was interested in writing, I didn't advertise my Hollywood-bound intentions because 1) The girl with one foot out the door might not get all the hours she wanted and 2) I didn't want them to privately laugh at me the way I might if they confessed similar aspirations.
Since I didn't have any old friends around and I was saving for a cross-country move, I didn't go out much. That changed when I met Ryan, a cute stockcar racer my co-worker Mandi set me up with. I tried to protest meeting him, I even confessed that I was putting in my two weeks notice soon and heading out to California, but Mandi insisted. He was a younger guy on her dad's racing team and she thought we'd click.
Out of boredom and the vague notion that a fling might be fun, I agreed. Mandi and I headed down a long country road to her dad's place, where there was a BBQ in progress. There was a band and as we made our way past lots of fancy car parts in the garage, I stumbled upon Ryan getting someone's mother a second serving of brisket.
I like country boys, guys who open doors and say "Yes'm" and "No, sir," guys with big trucks and worn-in baseball caps. Ryan also had a hotrod, which he took me to see that very first night. You'll be shocked to learn we ended up making out against the tin siding of the garage where it was kept.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I’ve been trying to remember a good blow off story in which I did the blowing off. It took so much effort that I came to the conclusion I was one hell of a doormat back in my dating days. And that’s when memories of 'Don' surfaced. He was my first serious boyfriend (if you don’t count ‘going with’ my middle school romeo for 9 months). Somewhere around the first week of my freshman year in college I was kind of assigned Don. After Rush, I was immediately taken under the wing of a group of mostly seniors from my sorority. Don was the one eligible bachelor in the group of guys my ‘sisters’ were dating. They presented me like the fresh meat I was and he took the bait hook line and sinker… well, not exactly sinker.
Although he was perfectly happy to have me on his arm and in his bed, he didn’t think he needed to legitimize my status in his life by making me his actual girlfriend. At first I didn’t care that it was casual; early on I was dating other people. Then when I started to care, I was too chicken to push the point (story of my life). After about four or five months, on a particularly angsty evening, I held his feet to the fire. He would not be corralled, regardless of the fact that it was only a matter of semantics. We were spending every night together and most of every day. He hadn’t gone out with anyone else since we met. He wouldn’t have been giving anything up or changing anything but it seemed the possibility that someone else could come along was more appealing to him than the reality of me.
So I decided he was too stubborn to be worth my fidelity. If he couldn’t be man enough to own up to what we were, then I didn’t need to pull myself off the dating market for him. I reigned in the amount of time I spent with him and another guy came on the scene; we’ll call him the one that got away. I should have left Don eating my dust for this one. He’s an actual example of an efficient blow off that I initiated but that’s another post all together.
Don was a sore loser and a big crier. I’m a huge sucker for a bawling man. I don’t know what it is about their vulnerability suddenly streaming down their faces but it dilutes all my logic and resolve immediately. Seeing me with the one that got away made Don realize how much he loved me, blah, blah, blah. And so our cycle began. We would fight and break up and then I would meet someone new and suddenly Don would repent all his sins and beg for me to take him back.
This completely illogical and largely annoying cycle continued for two years. We broke up and got back together at least five times. I think somewhere deep down (and sometimes right on the surface) I knew it would never work with us but I was eighteen and I didn’t know any better than to equate unbelievably hot sex with undying love. At the time, I kept blaming our problems on the situation. We were always on his turf. I lived in the dorm and then in the sorority house so he never got to be in my space with me. We were constantly with his roommate and his lost-boy-esque friends. Then I left the sorority (cause lets face it they suck) and got my own apartment. I had only been there a few weeks when one night Don came over after work to find me watching Frasier. When we were on his turf we watched nothing but sports center or whatever video game the lost boys happened to be playing. It turned out the humor of Frasier was too highbrow for Don. It hit me: we couldn’t do the one most basic thing two humans can do together, watch TV. It had to end.
For about six weeks he tried to keep the cycle going. One evening he just had to see me. He wanted to tell me all about how he had gotten ‘saved’ in the mall parking lot by a co-worker. Don’s parents were devout Buddhists. Don, himself, wasn’t much of anything, but in complete desperation he was willing to be whatever he thought I wanted him to be. He missed the boat on that entirely. Although, I was raised in a Christian church, it wasn’t a Baptist one and I happen to think the whole I’m going to get ‘saved’ on a whim thing (and potentially over and over and over again) is just plain silly. Unfortunately, after two years Don still didn’t know me well enough to know that. All he knew was that his standard cycle perpetuating make-up attempts weren’t working. It was time to cut him off. We eventually became friends but not until a lot of time had passed and I was sure the cycle was completely broken.